


Start Again

by noctisnal



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Harm to Children, Homelessness, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Jason Todd is Robin, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 03:12:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7342336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noctisnal/pseuds/noctisnal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Batmobile tires get snatched, and Bruce catches the thief. The culprit is definitely not who he was expecting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Start Again

**Author's Note:**

> i decided that the amount of lil robin jason fic on here is Unacceptable and wrote some mediocre stuff on my own in an attempt to fix this. this is gonna be like...a retelling of jason's years as robin/an exploration of his relationship with bruce and co. a lotta characters are probably gonna show up eventually (i have all the main ones listed already) so i'm gonna add as i go and stuff. 
> 
> this is in the tags already but just in case anyone didn't see, this fic is going to feature mentions and depictions of child abuse and a lot of other not good stuff (also in the tags) so please be aware of that and tread lightly. also, this is a genfic, so no romances besides pretty brief mentions of the pre-existing canon ones. happy reading guys!

    “Unbelievable.”

     Bruce stared at his car with undisguised shock, taking in the three missing tires and the rims boosted on top of crumbling cinder blocks. _Of course it would be tonight, of all nights_ , Bruce sighed, then moved into action and began investigating his car. Loose bolts were scattered all across the grimy cement of the alley, and he wondered why the thief didn’t collect those too, if money was what they were after. The one remaining tire was untouched, all bolts in place, and undamaged.

     Bruce swore he felt the universe laughing at him. He just wanted to get out of this God-forsaken part of town, far away from the memories of gunshots and pearls clinking down, _down_ , into the sewer. Nights like this made him miss Dick’s optimistic presence at his side more than he could admit, but he pushed the thought down. Regrets wouldn’t do anything right now but drag him down further, and there was work to do. He turned his attention back to the car--now a crime scene--and away from his ruminations.

     There wasn’t much more to be found in the area. No footprints, nothing dropped, and nothing else out of place. Coming here while the car’s alarms were disabled for maintenance had been a bad choice, to say the least. A good start would be to check the discarded bolts for fingerprints, he supposed--

     Wait.

     A faint shuffling noise emitted from _under_ his car. _There’s no way_ , he thought, but changed his mind soon after. _Stranger things have happened_ _here_. The thief probably came for the last tire, then heard him coming and darted for the only cover they could think of at the time: beneath the car. God, tonight was not his night.

     Slowly, Bruce crouched to get a look under his stripped car. He couldn’t get a good look before something (a tire iron?) came flying towards his face, and he had to either dodge or lose a few teeth. A small something -- _someone --_ tried to dart out while he was half-distracted, but they didn’t get very far before he was blindly grabbing the back of their hood and pulling back hard, gripping them by the wrist and jerking the tire iron away before they could try anything to escape.

     “Lemme go, asshole!” They shouted, kicking out, and Bruce almost did, because that was definitely _not_ the voice of an adult.

     With the hood down and more light shed, Bruce could finally get a good look at the person who jacked his tires. It was a little boy; ridiculously skinny and short, greasy haired with tired hazel eyes and a smudge of dirt across his nose. He’d expected an adult, but… a _child_ stole the tires off the Batmobile. Of course, no adult would ever have the guts to pull a stunt like that. He… really needed better security.

     The thought made him snort, and the kid seemed so horrified at the Batman showing positive emotions that he started struggling even harder. “I said let go, you freak! I didn’t do nothin’ wrong!”

     Bruce snorted again. “So that’s why you were hiding under my car with a tire iron?”

     “You left your car in Crime Alley, what’d you expect would happen to it? Least it didn’t get keyed,” the boy scoffed. “Some people need this more than you.”

  _Fair point._ “That doesn’t make thievery acceptable.”

     “You can’t think like that and live _here_ . This is the Narrows, you _boob_.”

     Any amusement previously held dropped from his face, and Bruce valiantly resisted the urge to rub his temples. It’s hard for him, sometimes, having grown up the way he did, to understand what living like that could be like; but it stung to see all the same, especially for a child. His purge on crime wasn’t doing enough to help places like this. It showed.

     “I can’t let you have my tires, but I can get you something to eat and some money in exchange for you putting them back _on_ ,” Bruce tried giving him the Look that had always made Dick listen, but belatedly forgot he was wearing the cowl. “No other conditions. I’d appreciate it if you told me your name, though.”

     “ _Hell_ no. I’ve _seen_ what happens to kids like me when they go with broads like you -- except they weren’t dressed like bats, because you’re _weird_ \-- you can’t lure me in with _food._ D’you think I’m stupid?” The boy jerked his wrist away, struggling harder. “I ain’t tellin’ you my name, either. You could come track me down again with your fancy Bat-Tech.”

     “If I wanted to kidnap you, which I _do not_ , I would’ve already. I want to help, and if you give me your name I can do that much more easily.” Something in Bruce twinges at the boy’s words. Children so young shouldn’t have to think like that.

     There was silence for a moment, and then: “...Jason,” he said, sounding like he was pulling teeth, as opposed to giving up simple information. “My name is Jason Todd. Happy now?”

     “Overjoyed,” Bruce deadpanned. Then, the dreaded question: “Can you tell me where your parents are?”

     “You said I only had to tell you my name!” Jason protested, frowning.

     “I also asked you to return my tires, but you’re not doing that. This is the least you can do.”

     He seemed to consider that. “Fair enough,” he conceded. “I dunno. Mom’s dead. Dad probably is too, but whatever. Not like he was good for anything anyways.” A small sniff betrayed his true feelings on the matter, though.

     Bruce’s stomach sunk and he closed his eyes, a phantom image of scattered pearls and bloodstained hands flickering behind the lids for a moment. The real reason he’d come to Park Row tonight. He couldn't help but feel like it was being shoved in his face. “I see. How long have you been living on your own?”

     “A while. And I’ve been doin’ fine alone! I don’t need some _old man_ comin’ along and tryin’ to tell _me_ what to do.”

     “I wouldn’t call jacking tires for a living ‘ _doing fine_ ’.”

     Jason broke eye contact and looked away, focusing intently on an old oil stain on the gravel. “Psh. Whatever.”

     “It is not ‘ _whatever_ ’, you can’t steal to survive. It’s not legal, and you are a _child_.”

     Jason looked up to meet his eyes again, annoyance burning clearly in his gaze. “So what? I’ve probably been doin’ it longer than you’ve been dressing up in your Halloween costume to ‘fight crime’, or whatever.”

     Most kids worshipped the Batman, looked up to him with awe or near reverence. This one looked like he wanted to smash that tire iron straight into his face. At least, on the surface. Despite the tough guy act Jason was putting on, Bruce could hear the fear skirting the edge of each of his words and the false bravado in his insults, along with a rabbit-like pulse that was impossible for him to hide. “I don’t doubt that. Regardless, that doesn’t make it right. I could easily send you to jail for this.”

     Something -- fear, probably -- flickered behind Jason’s eyes at Bruce’s statement. “I get it, okay? Stealing is bad, yadda yadda. You can have your damn tires back if you want ‘em that bad, just butt outta my business. I won’t do it again,” Jason scowled, obviously lying through his teeth.

     “You’ll help me put them back on, as well,” Being sympathetic towards his would-be thief didn’t mean absolving him of all consequences. Just, most of them. “Then we’ll discuss your living situation. I’m not the type to be willfully ignorant.”

     “Fine,” he said, contempt dripping from the single word. Bruce could tell he only agreed because he knew he wouldn’t win an argument against the Batman. Smart kid.

 

* * *

 

     Bruce looked around the dilapidated room as Jason led him in. It’s very sparsely furnished. There was a dog-eared poster for a band he knew Dick liked hanging on the wall by a tack, a filthy mattress on the floor, and a pack of cigarettes on a small stand next to it, paired with a faded red lighter. His previously missing tires sat alone in the corner, piled on top of each other. The room stunk of smoke and mildew, and Bruce watched in mild horror as Jason grabbed a cigarette off the stand and lit it.

     He reached forward and snatched the stick out of Jason’s hand before he could take a puff. “Those things will kill you. You shouldn’t be smoking them.”

     Jason rolled his eyes. “Seriously? Everyone around here does it. You wanna talk about things that’ll kill you, talk about fighting crime dressed up like a bat. Don’t be a-a… um…”

     “A hypocrite?” Bruce finished for him, an eyebrow raised behind the cowl. “I’m an adult. It’s different.”

     “Well, you’ve never lived _here_.”

     Bruce _hnned_ under his breath. He didn’t have anything to say to that, but he still refused to relinquish his hold on the cigarette.

     Jason threw his hands up in the air. “Whatever. You _suck_.”

     “Hm. Are you ready to get to work?” Almost absentmindedly, Bruce picked up the only other item on the stand, which was a picture of a woman in a cracked plastic frame. She bore no resemblance to Jason, but for some reason he still felt compelled to ask: “Is this your mother?”

     Jason whirled around from his place by the tires and upon seeing what Bruce was holding, marched over to kick Batman in the back of his boot. It didn’t faze him in the least. “Put that down!” He shouted. “It’s none of your business.”

     Bruce complied, setting the broken frame back where it belonged. Jason was the definition of scrappy, not even close to scraping five feet tall but ready to pick a fight with Batman, of all people. His spirit reminded him just a little bit of Dick, but the anger reminded Bruce of himself. Maybe...

     “Alright. Help me get these back where they belong.”

 

* * *

 

     “You shouldn’t bother trying. Kids like me always end up back here, no matter what,” Jason had said, almost _conversationally_ , as they walked away from the crumbling apartment building he called home.

     “Who told you that?” Bruce had asked in return, taken aback.

     “I just know, okay?” Jason responded, snappish as usual.

     “Even if that’s true, it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try.”

     Neither of them really spoke after that, but Jason seemed to think about it for a while.

 

* * *

 

     By the time they had finished putting the tires back on the Batmobile, both Bruce and Jason were exhausted. It had already been late when he’d began patrol; with everything that had happened in between, Bruce could see the early morning sun’s rays peeking over Gotham’s smoggy horizon. He glanced over at Jason. The boy had only started showing signs of exhaustion an hour or so prior, which left Bruce wondering what kind of hours he was used to keeping.

     Jason was definitely crashing, though. He sat on his knees next to the most recently re-bolted tire, body lilting forward as his eyes drifted shut. Bruce crouched down and shook his shoulder to prevent him from getting a faceful of cement.

     “Hm?” Jason blinked up at him, blearily. “Oh. You again.”

     Bruce resisted the urge to snicker. He did have an image to keep up, after all. “Me again.”

     “Are we done?”

     “Yes, we’re done.”

     He had considered his options, as they worked on the tires. Jason couldn’t live on his own any longer; after seeing the way he lived, Bruce couldn’t knowingly send any child back to sleep in that kind of squalor. He doubts Jason would stay in any group foster home, and besides, Gotham doesn’t have a shining reputation when it comes to its foster system. He remembers how Dick was treated by Gotham CPS before Bruce had taken him in, and curls his lip involuntarily. No, that wasn’t an option either.

     “What’re you gonna do with me now?” Jason’s unusually quiet voice interrupts his train of thought.

     The manor has been too quiet since Dick left. Too still.  For the second time in his life, Bruce makes a purely impulsive decision.

     “Can you keep a secret?”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! feel free to drop a comment here or come talk to me over at robjn.tumblr.com :^)


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